his too," added Jackeymo, in Italian, as well as his sobs
would let him, and he broke off a great bough full of blossoms from his
favourite orange-tree, and thrust it into his mistress's hand. She had
not the slightest notion what he meant by it!

CHAPTER III.

Violante was indeed a bewitching child,--a child to whom I defy Mrs.
Caudle herself (immortal Mrs. Caudle!) to have been a harsh stepmother.

Look at her now, as released from those kindly arms, she stands, still
clinging with one hand to her new mamma, and holding out the other to
Riccabocca, with those large dark eyes swimming in happy tears. What a
lovely smile! what an ingenuous, candid brow! She looks delicate, she
evidently requires care, she wants the mother. And rare is the woman
who would not love her the better for that! Still, what an innocent,
infantine bloom in those clear, smooth cheeks! and in that slight frame,
what exquisite natural grace!

"And this, I suppose, is your nurse, darling?" said Mrs. Riccabocca,
observing a dark, foreign-looking woman, dressed very strangely,
without cap or bonnet, but a great silver arrow stuck in her hair, and a
filigree chain or necklace resting upon her kerchief.

"Ah, good Annetta," said Violante, in Italian. "Papa, she says she is to
go back; but she is not to go back, is she?"

Riccabocca, who had scarcely before noticed the woman, started at that
question, exchanged a rapid glance with Jackeymo, and then, muttering
some inaudible excuse, approached the nurse, and, beckoning her to
follow him, went away into the grounds. He did not return for more than
an hour, nor did the woman then accompany him home. He said briefly to
his wife that the nurse was obliged to return at once to Italy, and that
she would stay in the village to catch the mail; that indeed she would
be of no use in their establishment, as she could not speak a word
of English; that he was sadly afraid Violante would pine for her. And
Violante did pine at first. But still, to a child it is so great a thing
to find a parent, to be at home, that, tender and grateful as Violante
was, she could not be inconsolable while her father was there to
comfort.

For the first few days, Riccabocca scarcely permitted any one to be with
his daughter but himself. He would not even leave her alone with
his Jemima. They walked out together,--sat together for hours in the
belvidere. Then by degrees he began to resign her more and more to
Jemima's care a